The Petroleum Club
by AlisonHell
Summary: Tim Shepard had a business proposition for the Mathews girl, but wasn't the kind of thing he could just spring on her on the street when she was coming off of work at the Petroleum Club. It was going to take a dance and a couple of drinks, maybe a promise or two he had no intention of keeping.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: The Outsiders and Tim Shepard belong to SE Hinton. The real Petroleum Club is in Oklahoma City. The building I imagine as the Petro Club in Tulsa is the Mayo Hotel.

 **The Petroleum Club**

"I'd never had the opportunity to be the object of hate before. The hard part isn't the hate.

It's the object." - Mike Daisy

One-

Tim Shepard had a business proposition for the Mathews girl, but wasn't the kind of thing he could just spring on her on the street when she was coming off of work at the Petroleum Club. He'd watched her do that for a good week, ever since her brother had mentioned with drunken incredulousness that his little sister was a private dancer in the Club ballroom.

They were playing cards in someone's basement- Two-Bit and Tim and a couple of guys who were making quick work of taking Two-Bit for everything he had.

"Shit, man, she's a stripper? Y'all are lettin' her do that? How old is she anyway?" One of the card players had asked.

That accusation had only got Two-Bit's dander up further. He answered each question, out of order, cursing in between as his hand was called and his money taken.

"Criminy, no, she's not a stripper. She's one of those...like they did for sailors during Korea...she just dances with guys. She doesn't dance _for_ them. She slow dances with guys who don't have dates or something. She's seventeen, but they think she's eighteen, and- shit- I can't make that girl do or not do anything. Stubborn as a mule."

"Does she have to dance with old guys?"

"I guess she has to dance with anyone who asks. I don't know. I try not to know. It sounds creepy, even if she is keeping all her clothes on."

It was generally agreed, around the table, that it was a creepy job.

"You're sure she keeps her clothes on? You're sure she doesn't get picked up on the dance floor, some guy slips her a key, and she meets him in his room?"

"I have never asked. I never thought about it. Damn, man, you sure seem to be thinking about it in vivid detail. Why don't you think about the cards?"

Tim listened without asking a question or adding an accusation. Damn sure, he'd never let his sister work as a dancer in the Petro Club Ballroom, but he could see the potential usefulness of Two-Bit's sister's working there.

He figured she worked on Thursdays because he never saw her around Buck's or anywhere else on Thursday nights. So, the next Thursday night, he found himself a shadow in a doorway across the street from the Petroleum Club with a view of the alley. He smoked and he waited.

Just after eleven, the light from an opened door sprayed across the alley and then shut again. There was the sound of girls voices and Tim could see lighters flickering and cigarettes being lit. Three of them emerged. One was dressed as a housekeeper. The other two wore black brocade dresses like the kind Tim had seen on waitresses in Chinese restaurants: black with gold trim, high at the neck and high on the hemline. One of the dancers was a blonde who wore her dress like she'd been poured into it. The other one- the redhead- was Two-Bit's sister, Donna.

Tim waited for the other two girls to split, and then he stepped away from his shadow and whistled at Donna Mathews. She looked spooked at first, and then her shoulders loosened when she saw it was him, and she just looked annoyed. He jogged across the street to meet her on the curb.

"Funny meeting you here," he said.

"Is it?" She asked. She looked up and down the street like she was expecting someone. Time guessed it was a rouse for his benefit. There was no one coming for her.

"I'd offer you a ride, but my car's dead to the world," Tim told her. That, at least, was the truth. _Pepper the bullshit with the truth and it would seem truthful enough._ "I can walk with you though. If you want."

"You're going to walk me all the way back up to the Cherokee? That's a little out of your tether range, ain't it?"

"Were you planning on walking on the way back up to Crutchfield, kid? It's Thursday and it's early. How's about we walk over to a ballroom that's having a little more our kind of party?"

" _Our_ kind?" She cracked a little grin and looked away up to street trying to hide it. She was a little afraid of him, Tim guessed. She didn't want him to see her smirking at him, but she wasn't so afraid that she wouldn't smirk.

"Yeah, the kind who have to ask nicely to get a girl to dance rather than payin' 'em for it."

"I'm not really dressed to go out. I don't want to go to a bar wearing this."

"You look like that's exactly where you should be going to me."

She beckoned for his cigarette with two fingers, took a drag, and then looked up at him through the smoke. Her hair wasn't as dark a red as Two-Bit's, more like a strawberry blonde. She had it cut in a bob up to the nape of her neck, the sides pulled back with bobby pins. She was a short girl, but she was wearing platform heels that put her almost eye-level with his wolfish smile.

She looked him over and he knew when she figured she'd made him because she handed the cigarette back and put her hand on her hip.

She said, "What do you want, Shepard?"

"I suppose you won't believe me if I said I just wanted to be sure you got home safe and sound?"

"Not for a damn minute."

"I'm really a very conscientious guy."

"Yeah, that's what I hear from my brother, and I know the kind of conscientious company he keeps. What's the grift?"

"Jesus, there ain't no grift. 'Grift' is a little harsh, honey. More like a favor. I have a favor to ask you."

Donna shook her head. "I've had prettier boys than you asking me for favors since six o'clock, and I haven't gone above and beyond for any of them. What makes you think that I'd give it up for you?"

"Because girls like you don't like pretty boys," Tim said. "And it ain't that kind of favor. Come on."

He reached out and guided her without actually touching her towards the end of the block. From there, he turned north and she kept pace with him because she knew where they were going.

The Brand Ballroom did not have valets or private dancers. It had a bar that subverted the draconian Oklahoma liquor laws and live music on Fridays and Saturdays. On Thursdays, things were a little more tame. Most of the guys were half-tanked by ten, and the girls were dolled up enough that Donna's geisha uniform didn't attract attention.

That wasn't entirely true- it attracted attention. Guys at the bar looked her over when she walked through the door, but quickly averted their eyes when they saw Tim.

"You want a drink?" Tim asked her, raising his voice over the din and the song on the jukebox.

"I want to know what the favor is."

Tim held up two fingers to the bartender. He took his cigarettes out of his inside jacket pocket and then patted himself down looking for his lighter. He was stalling, and it wasn't fooling her for a second. He produced the lighter and stuck two cigarettes between his lips. He lit them both and handed one to Donna.

"Are you a good dancer?" He asked her.

"I should be. It's what they pay me for."

"Really? Guys pay you just to dance? I always thought that was just a gateway to secure more lucrative gigs."

"The hotel pays me by the hour to dance with clients in the ballroom. The clients can tip me, if they want."

"And that's it?"

"What's it?"

"You don't do anything else? You don't go up to the rooms or the bar? You don't dance your way upstairs?"

She shrugged, bored with the question. "I don't, no. I'm sure it happens."

"So, what do I got to do to get in there and dance with you?"

"You have to wear a jacket and a tie, for starters."

"Go figure- I left my tie at home. What if I just ask you to dance here? Are you going to dance with me, just for the hell of it, or do I have to tip you when it's over?"

"Like I said, it's up to the client whether or not to tip."

"I'm not trying to be a client."

He picked up the two bottles of beer when the bartender sat the down on the bar. He offered one to Donna, but she didn't take it. Instead, dropped her cigarette to the floor and stubbed it out with the toe of her shoe.

"What _are_ you trying to be, Shepard? I feel like I'm being interrogated like a spy or something."

"You're not too far off. I want to know some things- things that you might know, or can find out doing your job. The kinds of things that I don't have access to because I'm…me."

"Then why don't you ask me what you want to know instead of asking me whether or not I turn tricks at the Petro Club?"

"Because I need for there to be a relationship, or at least some common ground, before I start asking for information. I need to know you well enough to know you won't feed me a bunch of shit."

"Why would I do that?"

"Maybe you're very loyal to your employer."

The thought amused her. She asked him, "Do you really think that's the case?"

 _Pepper the bullshit with the truth, and it will seem like truth enough. Lay a little of yourself out there, and don't try to look smart._

"Honey, I have no fucking idea," Tim told her, avoiding her eyes by turning to punch out his own cigarette on the bar. "If someone laid out a jar of tea leaves on the table, I'd have an easier time reading those. You are like a blank page. So, give me a little something…just a clue as to where I stand. Do you want to dance with me?"

"Here? Right now?"

"Y'all have someplace else you need to be?"

And he had her. Trouble was he didn't entirely know what he had. That part hadn't been a lie.

"Can I pick the song? I never get to pick the song."

"Go ahead. I'll even front you the nickel. Pick your song."

He dug a nickel of the pocket that had produced the lighter. She shook her head a little and rolled her eyes when he dropped it in her palm. Tim watched her walk across the floor. She had to know he was doing it because guys watched her walk all the time. When she reached the jukebox, she leaned in to read the names of the songs, and turned her ankle back and forth like she was working out a kink. Or flirting.

Donna chose her song and walked back to Tim at the bar. They drank their beers and waited out the faster-tempoed selections before hers.

Tim told her: "All's I want from you is to be a good listener. I'd guess that you hear things. Maybe guys even tell you things sometimes."

"You don't know the half of it. I hear all sorts of things. What kinds of things should I be giving my attention to?"

"Things related to alcohol, namely. Who has it, where they get it, where they keep it hid before it gets to a place like this or the Petro Club. I'd guess the juice at the Petro Club is a little more top shelf than what you got in your hand there."

"A lot of wine," she said. "Wine with food, then cocktails for dessert."

"So plenty of liquor flowing too?"

"You could about swim in it."

Tim set his bottle down, and leaned in closer to her. He already had his arm around her, but resting on the bar- still not touching her. It made him seem respectful, he figured. He told her:

"I don't want you to ask any questions, and I don't want you to do anything with a client that you wouldn't normally do. Don't do anything to arouse suspicion, and don't get yourself hurt. Just listen good, and tell me what you hear."

"Why me?" She asked. Maybe she was thinking _why me and not the blonde from the alley. She fills up that dress like it was a sausage casing_.

"Because you're one of us, or your brother is. We come from the same places. You know the score."

She laughed at that, and cocked her eyebrow at him- just the way her brother did. "But I shouldn't let on to Two-Bit that you and I have this arrangement?"

"Christ, no. He'd beat me to shit."

And that _was_ the truth. Saying it out loud, Tim figured, belied vulnerability.

Donna seemed to agree with that. There was no _oh no, Tim, surely you could take Two-Bit._

She cut to the chase:"What is our arrangement then, exactly? Since I'm performing a service, I assume you're going to compensate me."

"Yeah, although not up front. All's I can offer you is a cut if I can make a score out of whatever you tell me. It's a risk. It might come to nothing."

"That is a risk, and I'd guess you're going to take up some of my precious time as well."

"How about we call that 'protection'? Do you like walking by yourself to the bus stop after dark? You ever find yourself wondering if one of those rich, untouchable oil money boys is going to follow you out to the street?"

"Actually, they do." Her shoulders tensed up some when she said it. "Sometimes. They pull up to the curb and offer me rides."

"What do you tell them?"

"That my brother's on his way."

"Is he?"

"If he was, he'd take the long way 'round and show up in his own sweet time." She tightened her lips, and Tim could tell that it wasn't conjecture. Two-Bit had left her in the lurch a time or two. So, he offered her what he figured she would value the most:

"Well, now you can tell them that I'm coming to get you. In fact, you won't have to tell them because I'll already be there. I'll be waiting across the street when you get off work."

"How long is this going to go on? I can't see you dropping everything every Thursday and Friday night at eleven for the rest of our lives."

"Couple of weeks, for starters. If it ain't producing anything, we'll knock it off. If I start getting something from you that I can use, then we'll play it out. So, we're back to where we were…do you want to dance with me? Seal the deal?"

What he guessed was her song had begun to play: Irma Thomas singing "Time Is On My Side". She bent down and pulled her shoes off. Without them, the top of her head grazed Tim's chin. She wasn't any taller than his own sister, and it made Tim think that he'd kill the son of a bitch who tried to pull with Angela what he was pulling on Donna Mathews. He let the thought go and instead concentrated on the curve of her back and how her hair smelled, and tried not to step on her bare toes.


	2. Chapter 2

Two-

Tim Shepard was on the level about one thing, at least: his car was out of commission. It seemed to Donna that he was trying to prove something else to her when he called a guy over at the Brand and told him to give her a ride home. He and the other guy exchanged some kind of look that Donna interpreted as a sign that the driver was to keep his hands off of her. The boy certainly didn't try anything. He barely spoke to her as he drove her through the near-empty streets and dropped her off around the corner from her house.

That was a precaution, Tim had told her. If no one saw who she got the ride from, then she wouldn't get cornered into having to answer questions. It was a well-thought piece of strategy, but it blew all to hell as soon as she got to the house.

Wherever Two-Bit had been waiting, he was on her heels almost as soon as hers touched the porch.

"Gracious good evening to you, Donna," he said. She recognized the bounce in his voice. He was half in the bag and feeling cocky. In that state, his mood could turn on a dime.

"Jesus, you scared me. Did you drop out of a tree?"

"Nah, I was waiting across the street. I heard something from a friend of a friend earlier. I was curious to see if it was true. Wanted to get a good seat to watch the show."

"What show is that?"

Donna reached for the screen door, but Two-Bit stepped around her. He stood with his back to the door, arms folded across his chest. Looking up at him, his shoulders seemed as wide as the doorway. If he hasn't been her brother, Donna might have been afraid. But he was just her brother- the same cocky son of a bitch she'd been arguing with since they were both old enough to put words together- and right now all she felt was tired and annoyed.

"The Tim and Donna Show, is what I heard," Two-Bit said. "I'm a little confused about that, since it was Dwight Carver whose car you just got out of. So maybe it's the Dwight and Donna show. Dwight and Donna- that's cute. So which is it?  
"Which is what?"

"Timmy and Donna or Dwight and Donna?"

"It's neither. There is no show, except for the one I put on at the Petro Club- all smiles and pretending to like all those Socs. It's about bled me dry, Two-Bit. I want to go to bed."

"My little bird says that you and Tim took off for the Brand after work. It's two-thirty. Y'all closed the place down."

Donna bit her lip. _Fucking Vanessa_ , she thought. Vanessa, the other dancer at the Club that evening, had left work when she did. It would stand to reason that a stacked little blonde like her would have Two-Bit's ear. _She's going to have the back of my hand_ , Donna thought to herself.

"I can't have a drink after work?" She asked her brother.

"Not with him, you can't. Not with any of those hoods."

"Yeah? And which hoods am I allowed to drink with? Since when am I supposed to run 'em by you first?"

"Since never, dumbie. Just don't be stupid about it. Just not Shepard and his boys. You know better than that. Those guys are a whole 'nuther breed."

Donna looked up at Two-Bit and ran a million different comebacks over in her head. She settled on the one with the most potential for turning the argument back on him:

"It was one drink. Look at me- I ain't even drunk. Not as drunk as you, at any rate."

"One drink in the Brand with Tim Shepard. You ain't even going to try to deny it?"

"Ain't any use in denying it, is there? Seems you're going to take Vanessa's word over mine."

Two-Bit grinned at that. Getting caught always seemed to amuse him where it might have sent anyone else running scared.

He said, "She was worried. She knows what kind of guy Tim is. She told me because she was concerned. Wanted me to know where to look if you didn't come home at a decent time."

"Really? Which ear was her tongue in when she told you that?"

Two-Bit's grin spread. He pointed to his right ear.

"This 'un. Want to know where my tongue was?"

"Gross, no. I want to go to sleep. I got to get up and do it all over again tomorrow evening."

"Not all of it," Two-Bit told her, stepping away from the door. "I'll pick you up tomorrow, make sure you get home all safe and sound."

She didn't bother to argue. Likely as not, he'd forget within the next eighteen hours. Or his car wouldn't start, or he'd get in a fight and get jailed before quitting time. She gave him a wide-eyed _whatever_ look and shoved him as she stepped past him and through the door.

* * *

Whether or not Two-Bit stayed true to his word, Donna had made up her mind to cut off his source of information before the time rolled around for he, or Tim, or anyone else to pick her up on Friday night.

She walked right up to Vanessa Simms in the staff restroom they used to change into their dresses and put on makeup, and she slapped her hard across the face.

Before Vanessa could say anything, Donna told her, "Keep you mouth shut, you little tramp. Two-Bit don't care whether you're worried over me or not. All's he wants you for is those tits. Lead with those next time. You won't have need to tell him anything."

"Christ, Donna. You don't have to be such a bitch."

"Apparently, I do if that's what it takes to make you decide you don't care enough about my whereabouts to go running to my brother."

"Fine," Vanessa said. She turned back to the mirror over the sink and smoothed her platinum hair. "Don't expect me to have a thing to say about it when one of those guys works you over, then. Other than to remind you that you were asking for it, Donna."

She yanked her dress into place by the hem and strutted past Donna out into the hall. Donna picked up the lipstick that Vanessa had left behind. They wore all the same make-up at the behest of their bosses, not because it looked the best on them, but because it made them match. _Like dolls_ , Donna thought. The red lipstick looked right on Vanessa, in a cartoonish way at least. She was a line-drawing of three bold colors: black dress, red lips, near-white hair.

On Donna, the red lipstick didn't look right at all. Her mother had always told her that redheads couldn't wear read, and if she ever saw Donna all dolled up and ready for work, she probably wouldn't go back on that. Outside of the Petroleum Club, Donna wore a lot of blue, some turquoise, and some pink. When she was a kid, her mother was forever trying to dress her up in green, which made Donna feel like a leprechaun. She had her own money to buy clothes now, and her mother didn't have anything to say about it. Donna never wore green.

And now that her mother had no say about what she wore, someone else did. Whoever that person was didn't give a damn how she looked in black or red, or in her yellow platform shoes. _Like Minnie Mouse_ , it occurred to Donna. _How creative. They've dressed us up like Minnie Mouse._

She put the cap back on the lipstick, pursed and blotted her lips. She pulled her heels on by the straps and walked out towards the ballroom.

The Petroleum Club Ballroom was too brightly lit to ever really have a "mood". She supposed it was some kind of societal safety precaution: all those rich mothers needed to have a good view to be sure their sons and daughters were dancing and mingling with the right daughters and sons. And if there was no one left over to mingle with, and one of those boys had to dance with Donna or Vanessa, a close watch had to be kept to ensure that no one was enjoying it too much.

And sometimes, to her amusement, Donna could tell that she had them worried. She didn't have Vanessa's curves, but she was the better conversationalist of the two. She could crack jokes, and she read the newspaper. She knew better than to talk politics with her parteners, but she versed herself in baseball and football. Sometimes, a boy would keep dancing with her longer than was necessary, sometimes for an entire evening. After the dance was over, though, she knew he would never speak to her again. After that, if his family came back, he would dance with Vanessa. Someone made sure of that.

Donna picked up a glass of water from a wheeled cart near the door and walked across the floor of the ballroom, listening to pieces of conversations as she passed the seated guests. It was going to be no problem- she had no moral quandaries- about throwing these people over for Tim Shepard's schemes. She hated them all. Most especially she hated the boys who danced with her- the ones who seemed like they might really like her but were too afraid of their mothers to do anything about it.

A hand touched hers at she passed a table. She stopped, turned on her pleasant smile, and leaned on the back of the only empty chair at the table. The person who had touched her hand was an older man. He was handsome in a way that her own father wasn't. Her father was tanned from working outdoors. He had a tattoo from shore leave in Japan on his forearm, and the untamed grin of someone who had fought his way out of a few bars in his time and probably enjoyed doing it.

The man who had touched her hand had none of those attributes. Everything about him matched. His nails were clean. His tie was made to be worn with his jacket and his jacket was made just for him.

Donna bit back a full-blown smirk. Tim Shepard was right: she didn't like pretty boys.

The man introduced himself and then- thank God- introduced his son, Dean. Dean looked like his father must have twenty years before when he was in officers training avoiding ever actually getting shipped out to anywhere.

"Dean's all on his lonesome tonight. Left that girl of his back at State. What the hell is she doing, Dean?"

Dean rose, rolling his eyes at his father, and said to Donna: "She's interning. To be a social worker."

"Wow, that's hard work. She must be something special," Donna said, and stopped short of saying that she'd been parked across the desk from the social worker at the Tulsa County Department of Corrections before herself. Social work _was_ hard. Donna had made it hard on that one.

Dean blew it off. He didn't expect this social work thing to last, Donna could see it. His social worker girl was going to knock that shit right off as soon as they got married. She was going to be a society wife, and the closest she was going to get to the dregs of humanity like Donna was organizing fundraisers to send school clothes to children in China or Africa. Deserving children. Not like the idle, redneck poor kids in Tulsa-the ones like Donna.

Donna was imagining all of this as Dean took her by the hand, but it wasn't hard to dream it up. She'd heard them say as much a hundred times before.

When they reached the floor, Dean set his drink down on the edge of the closest table.

"What's that?" Donna asked, knowing good and well it was gin.

"It's a martini. Shaken, not stirred. Like James Bond."

"Oh, is that the stuff they make in Russia?" She asked, knowing damned good and well that was vodka.

"No," Dean said. He smiled down at her, pleased that he was going to get to school her in something. "It's gin. They make it all over, but this is from London. It's higher proof if it comes from England, I guess. I paid enough for it. It had better be imported in from somewhere. You tell me- is it from England?"

"I don't tend the bar. I just dance."

"Well, from the looks of the labels, there isn't a bottle back there that's made in the U.S.A except maybe the bourbon. Doesn't always mean it's better, but a lot of times it does. With gin, it does."

Donna frowned and nodded, as if this was difficult for her to process. Already she was planning how she could plausibly make her way back to the room behind the bar where the liquor was stored. Tim Shepard had told her just to dance, but she could get him farther in his mission and faster if she could get to the back and count bottles. The faster she fed good information to Tim, the sooner she could be rid of him.


	3. Chapter 3

Three-

Tim could feel it radiating on him- bright as the beam from the street light that hung over the entrance to the Petroleum Club. Two-Bit Mathews was grinning at him- leaning against the front bumper of his Plymouth, arms folded across his chest.

It was a small miracle in itself that Tim had found a working car in time to pick up Donna up when she got off of work. It was on par with the Second Coming that Two-Bit's car was also in working order and had delivered him to the same curb for the same purpose.

"Beautiful evening, ain't it?" Two-Bit asked.

Tim flipped him off and lit a cigarette.

Two-Bit grinned. "What's the matter, Timothy? You're not a fan of clear skies and light, southeasterly winds? Not having such a good evening?"

Tim inhaled hard, exhaled, and studied Two-Bit through the smoke. Thinking before he spoke was one of the skills he prided himself on most. He mulled over how much of what he ought to tell Two-Bit. He doubted Donna had told him anything, but he knew enough to meet her here and disrupt Tim's plans, and Two-Bit had never struck Tim as someone who was given to lucky guesses.

"It's gonna rain," Tim told him. "I'm not a fan of rain."

Two-Bit studied the sky.

"Yeah, I guess I did hear that. It'd be a shitter of a night for a girl to find herself without a ride home from work. That's what I was thinking, anyway. That's why I'm here- to pick up my sister. Who're you here for?"

"Who says I'm here for anyone? Maybe I'm going in for a drink."

Two-Bit howled with laughter over that one.

"I'd stick around to see how that went down. Do you think they'd eject you back out through the front door or out into the alley? The front door option would certainly set an example- perhaps dissuade ruffians like myself from trying it. On the other hand, if they tossed you out into the alley, the opportunity would arise to discreetly beat you into concrete."

"I'm sure you'd like to see that as well."

"Not so much." Two-Bit pushed himself up off the bumper and stepped towards Tim. "We're on the same side there, Timmy. You and me against the Petroleum Club jet setters. When it comes for my little sister, however, I think our paths diverge."

"And that has made all the difference," Tim mumbled, and then was amused when Two-Bit didn't get it.

"So let's cut the crap, Shepard," Two-Bit said.

Tim was inwardly way ahead of him on that- sizing Two-Bit up the way he'd done a time or two before: Two-Bit was about his height, but heavier. His shucking and jiving masked an undercurrent of rage that packed a hell of a punch. If that didn't do the trick, he most certainly had a knife. Tim had a stolen 442 J-frame inside his jacket, but he wasn't about to draw in what amounted to a spotlight on the front steps of a society hotel.

"You're sister's kind of cute, Mathews," Tim said. Following his M.O, this was not a complete lie, although he'd never given a thought to making a play for her. Donna had a nice ass, and that little Chinese restaurant waitress dress she wore didn't exactly obscure the view. "How's about you take the night off and I'll give her a ride home. I promise to be a gentleman. On my mother's grave."

"Last I heard, your mom was very much alive and kickin', Shepard. That don't make for much of a promise. And if you think Donna's so cute, how come you let Dwight give her a ride home last week?"

Tim raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise.

"Dwight gave her a ride home? Dang, she's a popular girl. Maybe I missed my shot."

"Maybe you did. Can't say I'd approve of her riding around with you any more than Dwight. I'm here now. She and I are both going home to the same place. I'll give her a ride. You can be free to carry on doing that voodoo that you do somewhere else."

Tim had never taken Two-Bit for being either protective or chivalrous. More likely than not, he was dragging this out for the sake of being a pain in the ass. Tim chucked his cigarette butt, and glanced up at the sky. The city lights obscured his view of the stars and the incoming clouds. A few blocks away, church bells began to ring eleven. He had run out of time.

The alley door opened and shut. Tim could hear girl's voices- Donna's and the girl from housekeeping. They were giving each other shit about something. The blonde with the curves came out of the alley ahead of them. She was not in on the joke.

"Hey, Vanessa," Two-Bit said.

"I don't even want to talk to you," she snapped, flying up in his face in a way that said she very much did want to talk to him. "I don't know what little family feud is going on between you and your sister, but I don't want to be part of it. You told her what I said, and she hit me."

"You think she'd want to hit you again?" Tim asked. "Cuz I'd like to see that."

Vanessa turned and glared at him, but didn't deem him worthy of his own tirade. She turned back to Two-Bit.

Two-Bit made his excuses while looking past her shoulder, looking for Donna:

"And I told her that you said what you said purely out of concern for her well-being. How is it my fault that she popped you for that? She's got a temper like a barn cat."

Tim looked back towards the alley. Donna and the girl from housekeeping had emerged and were standing at the edge of the shadows. When they saw him looking, the housekeeper whispered something like _goodnight and good luck_ to Donna, and walked away up the street. Donna took a step towards Tim.

"Vanessa could use a ride, Two-Bit," she said. "Since she's been so concerned for my safety, it's the least I can do to return the favor. You know where she lives, right?"

"I don't want to go anywhere with him," Vanessa sputtered.

"You want to go somewhere with me?" Tim offered, steeling himself against a slap he suspected might be coming.

"No, I'm going back inside and calling my dad."

"Christ, Vanessa," Donna said. "Go with Two-Bit. You bring a change of clothes? Does you old man know that's what you're wearing to work? My mama sure as hell ain't seen me wearing this. She'd about tan me if she did."

That logic reached Vanessa. Both she and Donna wore street clothes when they left their houses for work, just like they wore knee-length skirts when they left for school in the morning. They rolled the skirts up at the waist before they got to Will Rogers. They changed into the brocade dresses at the Club.

"Fine," Vanessa said. She turned back to Two-Bit. "Just take me somewhere that I can change. Then take me home."

"Your wish is my command," Two-Bit said. He walked around to the passenger side of his car and opened the front door. Vanessa got in, still giving him the evil eye. Two-Bit shut her door and opened the back. "You too, Donna Rae."

"I'm tired," Donna said. "I just want to go home. I'll go with Tim."

"The hell," Two-Bit told her. "Let's go."

"Just go," Tim said. Donna and Two-Bit both looked at him, confused. Tim said, "I ain't here to start shit."

"Could've fooled me," Two-Bit muttered.

"I'll see you around, Donna," Tim said. He winked at her as he walked towards his driver's side door, in full view of Two-Bit and much to Two-Bit's annoyance.

Donna frowned. She had no idea what Tim was up to, only that he was up to something. She could see it in the way his mouth turned slightly at the corner, like a cat caught with something in its mouth that shouldn't be there. Say perhaps a canary.

* * *

Two-Bit and Vanessa fought in the front seat all the way up to Crutchfield, where Two-Bit dropped Donna off in front of their house. Donna would've bet her platform heels that they were working their way up to a fury-induced make-out session that would delay Vanessa's arrival home and Two-Bit's eventual return.

Tim was betting on the same thing. As soon as Two-Bit's car was out of view, he flashed his headlights at Donna from down the block. She paused to take her shoes off and walked barefoot to his waiting car. Tim pushed the passenger door open from the inside.

"So, what's the good word, Mathews?" he asked her.

Donna frowned. Tim was all business, not in the least interested in talking about the little tiff that had just transpired.

"The liquor's all foreign," she told him. "So it's expensive. I'd have to get into the storeroom behind the bar to know exactly how much they have squirreled away."

"What'd I tell you? Don't do anything that you wouldn't do normally. You ain't the bartender, so stay out of the storeroom."

"We go back there sometimes," she said. She squirmed when she said it, like thinking about it made her uncomfortable.

"Why? You go back there with guys? That's it, ain't it? You don't go up to their rooms because they don't want to risk being seen with your kind of girl. But they ain't above taking you into a back room and...what?"

"What else do you need to know, Shepard?"

"I just asked you a question."

"What else do you need to know about the liquor? I'm trying to do my job here- the one I may or may not be getting paid for."

"The one you do for me or the one you do at the Club?"

Her defensiveness got the better of her. That's all it was- skirting one issue by creating another- when she snapped at him: "Why don't you tell me about your line of work, then? Since you apparently don't get your hands dirty the way I do? Which end are you usually on, Tim, the giving or the receiving? Tell me you never charmed a girl into a backroom or a backseat for a price of some sort?"

"Why? You want to hop in the backseat?"

"No, I want to go inside. Of my house. By myself."

"Alright, whatever. I withdraw the question. I'm telling you, though, Donna, stick to your job. Stick to dancing. I don't need to know the inventory. I need to know where it comes from. You did good, you picked up on exactly what I needed you to pick up on. You did good."

"I'm not a fuckin' puppy, Shepard. It comes in on the train."

Tim raised his eyebrows. She was quick, this one.

"How'd you find that out?"

"I didn't. It's just logic. The vodka comes from Russia. The whisky comes from Ireland or England. It would have to go through customs, and that would be on a coast. It's quicker to move anything from the east coast to here on a train than on a truck."

 _Jesus_ , Tim thought. She was right, of course. She wasn't any fuckin' puppy. She had a mind for this shit as quick at solving puzzles as any of the evolving criminals in his gang.

"Okay, then. Can you find out when there's a delivery coming? I don't want to rip it off. I just want to watch how it plays out. Can you do that?"

She cocked an incredulous eyebrow at him.

"Are the Kennedy's goddamned gunshy?" She asked.

"That's a shitty thing to say. And you got a filthy mouth. And you're a very smart girl."

None of what he said seemed to make a dent. Donna opened the car door and got out. She walked away down the block towards her house without so much as a _thank you_ or a _goodnight_.


	4. Chapter 4

Four-

She was a smart girl in some ways, and maybe not so smart in others. She wasn't about to deny it. In fact, she was inwardly cursing herself for it on Saturday night as the breath in her lungs was forced out when Dean pushed her hard up against the wall in the bar storeroom at the Petroleum Club.

He wasn't trying to be rough; he was just a rough sort of guy. She should have seen that coming, she figured, the way he thought he drank like James Bond and expected to be the word of the Lord with his woman once they were married.

She wondered how far off that wedding was as she parted her lips and accepted that impatient kiss that he laid on her. His hands were everywhere at once. From her collarbone to her hip hitching up her dress, to between her thighs, and then back to his own belt.

"Hey, take it easy," she told him. "We're not gonna...they'll notice if we're gone too long."

"We're not gonna _what_? We won't be gone that long, sweetheart. I'd hardly call this a romantic encounter."

He wasn't wrong about that. She had to wonder about a guy who would actually admit outright to a girl that he wasn't going to take that long.

Donna took a breath and look up at him, the flirtatious sparkle back in her eyes.

She asked, "Well, what then?"

Dean had his belt and the button at the waist of his dress pants undone. He reached as took Donna's hand and pulled her told him again. He pressed her hand against him at the zipper of his pants and helped to slide it up to where they were open.

"What then?" He asked her, mocking her voice a little, and leaned into kiss her again. She let him, and she let him put her hand wherever he wanted it to go.

* * *

A little after ten, Donna told the bartender that she was sick and she needed to go home. It wasn't a lie. She had started feeling nauseous the minute Dean pinned her up against the wall in the storeroom, and she'd been feeling ill ever since. The feeling of his fingers between her thighs made her skin crawl. She wanted to wash her hands under the skin came off.

She'd let it go too far, but she had what Tim wanted, and now she could tell him and be done. She didn't care if anything came of it, or it he paid her or what. She was going to go find him at the Brand and tell him that she'd read on an order form on a clipboard beneath the bar that the next delivery came into the railyard in at three am on Wednesday. He'd probably know right away that she hadn't found that clipboard underneath the bar, but she didn't care. She'd done everything he'd told her not to do, and her punishment for disobeying would be his not saying a damned thing about it at all.

Walking towards the Brand, Donna surprised herself. She started crying. It began with the sick feeling in her stomach which crawled up and became a tightness in her throat. She fought it down as long as she could- even when her eyes filled up with tears and spilled over she didn't open her mouth and whimper. She held onto that until she found a convenient alley and was able to step into the darkness.

There, she let herself cry. When she was cried out, she let herself get angry. She picked up a few stray bottles and threw them at the opposite wall, cursing over the sound of the broken glass. When she was worn down, and figured she could face Tim Shepard without any show of emotion, she wiped her face with a handkerchief from her purse and put her own lipstick on.

She continued her walk to the Brand.

The Brand was packed on a Saturday night. She was too young to get in, but the man at the door gave in to her plea of "I'm looking for my boyfriend. I'll come right back out."

The whirl of moving bodies, the smoke, and the smell of sweat comprised mainly of beer about snapped her nerves. She went to the bar and tried to find Tim in the crowd. When she didn't immediately see him, she looked for the kinds of girls she expected he'd be with and tried to identify him among their dates. No sign of him. She looked for Dwight, but she didn't see him either.

She didn't hear the voice at her side the first time. When the boy touched her arm, Donna about jumped out of her skin.

"Hey, take it easy. I was just asking if you wanted to dance," the boy said. On any other night, he'd have been just her kind of trouble- tall, tightly-packed muscle with a squirrely grin, dead-ringer for either a brawler or a bullrider. Tonight, though, he was simply trouble.

"I'm looking for someone," she told him.

He grinned at that. "Yeah, right here. You found me. You wanna dance?"

Again, any other night...He had a sweet face. If he was a cowboy, then he definitely knew how to dance. Those rodeo boys always did. The greasers liked to joke that they learned it dancing and doing God-knows-what-else with their own sisters, but it didn't matter what the greasers said once one of those bull riders or calf-ropers got ahold of you and got you out onto the floor. They were the smoothest kind of boys Donna had ever met. Maybe, she always told herself, she just had some daddy issues.

She smiled, though, in spite of her psyche crashing down around her.

"No, really. I am looking for someone. Do you know a guy named Tim Shepard?"

"No. Is he from here? I ain't from around here."

 _Another point in this guy's favor_ , Donna thought. She gave him another look-over, but when she did, she felt her stomach tighten up. A couple of drinks and a couple of dances down the line, this guy wasn't going to be any different than any of the others. He'd start getting the idea that she owed him someone for all that charm. _Do want to dance, do you want to have a drink, do you want to go upstairs, outside, to my room, to my car, and you're a fuckin' tease- by the way- if you say no._

The boy frowned at her.

"What's wrong?" He asked. "You look like you just seen the Angel of Death."

"I gotta go," Donna said. "Thanks, but I gotta go."

She gave him an apologetic shake of her head and left him standing by the bar. She passed the doorman on her way out and shrugged as if to say _I couldn't find him_. He didn't seem to recognize her anyway.

Donna turned north and started contemplating how she was going to get back up to Crutchfield. If she went back to the Petroleum Club now, she might make it before Tim or Two-Bit showed up and they'd never know she had left. As she was thinking it, though, the church bells struck eleven. If they were waiting there at all, she was late.

She made it about three blocks before she became away of a car on the street creeping behind her. Out of instinct, she began walking faster and scanning for doors to duck into. When the driver tapped on the horn, she squeaked and wheels around.

The driver leaned over and rolled down the passenger-side window.

"Hey, Donna, right? It's me- Dwight...Remember? Shit, where are you even going?"

Donna let her shoulders drop. She took a few steps closer to Dwight's car, but didn't go all the way to leaning in the window. Dwight frowned at this.

He said, "Shepard sent me to get you at the Petro Club. He got caught up…"

"Of course he did," Donna replied, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, he did. There's...shit, just get in. You gonna walk home from here? Or do you want to go to a party? We been at this killer party out by the railyards...You know Buck Merrill?"

Donna nodded, and tried to conceal her revulsion. Apparently, she did a poor job because Dwight laughed and said:

"Yeah, me too. You want to find Shepard, that's where he's at. Otherwise, I'll drop you off on my way back. Get in. You got a few blocks to decide."

Donna tugged on the door handle. She was ready to go home, and- although she'd never say it out loud- was sort of delighted that someone noticed that she wasn't where she was supposed to be.

"Yeah," she said to Dwight. "Give me a bit to decide."


	5. Chapter 5

Five-

Buck fancied his place a roadhouse, but it was really nothing more than a crash-pad for cowboys sleeping off benders and concussions between rodeos and horse races. The house was far enough north to almost be in Turley, if Turley hadn't been blown off the map by a tornado in the first spring of the new decade. It was a shotgun-style house with a chimney that separated the living and dining areas. There was next to no furniture in either space- a couple of ratty couches and a card table with mismatched chairs. Donna had heard there was actually a bed in the bedroom, but she'd never been that far into the back.

Out in the yard, several half-wild horses wandered between a two or three Streamline trailers up on blocks. Those were the "rooms" Buck had for rent. They had kitchens and bathrooms, but they weren't hooked up any source of water, so all they were really good for was sleeping one off or snagging a girl. They typically shook when occupied.

Dwight stopped the car at the fence and got out to pull the chain from the gate. The horses looked up when the chain hit the ground, pondered escape, and then went back to foraging. Dwight got back into the car, pulled forward ten feet, and then got out again to close the gate. Donna got out, too.

"I'ma park closer to the house," Dwight said.

"Yeah, I just want to get some air."

Dwight grinned. "There's air in the house, too, doll. Might get you a little stoned, but I'm sure there's oxygen in it somewhere."

"Yeah, I just want to walk. It's like fifty feet."

Dwight shrugged and mumbled something like _suit yourself_. He got back in his car and drove slowly past Donna, parking with his front bumper almost on the porch.

Donna waited at the outer reaches of the yard light's beam for Dwight to go inside. She thought she heard Tim's voice asking _where the hell is she_ , and Dwight answering something she couldn't make out. Whatever he said, it didn't worry Tim enough to make him want to come outside to meet Donna. She took a last deep breath and walked to the porch.

Inside someone had commandeered Buck's record player and put his beloved Hank Williams aside. Instead, Etta James was imploring her man not to cry- like he ever would , but the record was warped. The vocal slowed and distorted about every other bar, giving the song an inebriated quality that matched the scene in the house. Through the screen door, Donna saw maybe twenty people, most of them guys, and everyone of them with a beer in his hand.

Donna opened the door only as far as necessary for her to squeeze through and closed it without making a sound. She wanted to go straight to Tim without attracting any other attention, talk to him, and slip on out the back with the tail end of the joint that was making its way around the room. Before she could make her move, though, she heard a laugh and a flurry of good-natured curses that made her stomach turn hard.

Two-Bit was there, at the card table in the dining room, obscured from her view by the chimney. He was the last person she wanted to see. For all his bravado and bullshit, he could read her like a book. He'd had her entire life to learn how after all. Donna wouldn't make it six inches into the dining room without her brother seeing something wrong written all over her.

"He's in there." Dwight's voice at her side made her jump. "He's playing cards with your brother."

"Yeah, my brother. He'll flip if he sees me here. Can you go get Tim and tell him to meet me outside?"

"I suppose," Dwight said. He didn't seem very sure of it. Donna didn't know if it was his own stealth he doubted or the likelihood that Tim wouldn't give her up. She turned back to the door. When she pushed on the screen, it the door pushed outward seemingly on its own. She looked back and Tim was behind her with his arm over her head pushing the door.

"What'd you do?" He asked before he'd let the door slam shut behind them.

"Three o'clock on Wednesday. That's when it comes in next."

"I didn't ask you about the train. You're hiding from your big brother. I asked you what the hell you did."

"I didn't do shit, Tim, except find out when the damn train's coming. If I did anything, it wouldn't be any of your business anyway."

"So, did you do something or not?"

He began fishing his cigarettes out of the front pocket of his flannel shirt. It was a stall tactic, Donna was learning. He prolonged the search when he was trying to beat back an emotion. He avoided her eyes by turning to light up. Once the cigarette was lit, he took the first drag and then offered it to her- making a point: he was willing to share, yeah, but it was still his cigarette.

Donna took it, but didn't give it back.

"I told you…" Tim started, then rethought it. He tried another tactic. "Listen, if your brother catches wind of you being up to anything that involves the likes of me, we're both gonna wish we had a crate of vodka of our own to drink away the pain. I am asking- for both our sake- are you okay?"

"Yes."

Tim waited, either for her to elaborate or give the cigarette back. When Donna did neither, he said, "You don't look okay. I got a little sister. I know when she's up to no good."

"Do you?"

"Yeah, see...and that's the deadringer right there- where you just give short little answers. Any other time, girls think they have to explain everything in vivid detail."

It just slipped out: "You don't want vivid detail."

"What? What was that?" Tim leaned in towards her, making like he hadn't heard right. "I'm sorry. Vivid detail of what? You going to give me all the details of nothing since nothing happened?"

Donna tossed the spent cigarette butt out into the yard. The embers burst against the dirt and then died out.

"I need a ride home," she said.

"Hang on. I'll get your brother."

"Can you just...or Dwight?"

"If I give you a ride, we're going to play us a game of twenty questions."

Donna shrugged. Tim muttered a curse.

"Hold on," he said, nodding towards the door. "I got to get Dwight's keys."

* * *

He wasn't lying about the twenty questions. Tim began firing at her as soon as the key was in the ignition.

"How did you find it out- the time?"

"I read it."

"Read it where?"

"At work. On a piece of paper."

"Don't fuck with me. Where was this piece of paper located...at work?"

"On a clipboard in the back room behind the bar."

"Would that be the same back room you told me you weren't going into?"

"That's the one."

"So, how'd you get back there?"

Donna considered telling him _through the door,_ but stopped herself.

"Same way I always get back there. I went back there with a guy. The bartender looks the other way. Sometimes they tip him for it, too."

"And what are they tipping for again?"

"I don't fuck anybody. I've never…"

"What then- first base, second base, blowjob, handjob, all of thee above?"

"Something like that."

"Jesus Christ."

He seemed disgusted by it, and that infuriated her. She could feel her cheeks getting red.

"Three o'clock Wednesday night. That's what you needed to know, right? What's it worth to you?"

"Not some Soc sonofabitch puttin' his hands all over you."

 _Why?_ She thought. _Because I belong to you? Because greaser girls belong to the greasers? Because it ain't like you give a damn about me otherwise._

Donna sighed.

"It ain't worth it to me, either, it turns out. Keep your money. I told you what you needed to know, and now I'm done."

"What do you mean you're done?"

"Exactly what I said. I don't want to play anymore. You don't have to give me any more rides, and I don't have to give you any more...anything."

"Yeah, but you can keep right on giving to just giving it any old boy from the south side because he tips you."

It wasn't one of his twenty questions. It was an accusation, barely audible. He might have been sorry once he said it because he shut up after that, and Donna lay her head against the window and wished he'd light another cigarette.

* * *

"My mom's home. Let me off at the corner."

It was the first either of them had spoken in several minutes. Tim's driving had become more impatient. He made jack-rabbit stops at the signs that sent Donna's head bouncing back against the seat. He didn't apologize and he didn't slow down.

"You don't want you mom to see you getting out of _my_ car? I bet she'd be overjoyed knowing what you do at work. You think she'd mind if that fucker drove you home?"

"Why do you have to be such an asshole about it? Would you maybe take it down a notch if I said it went too far, that I made an error in judgement and it went too far? Or would you just have to rub it in more then?"

Tim had started to slow down to pull up to the curb. Now he veered back into to the street and drove on past Donna's house. He punched the lighter in, much to her relief.

"Where are you going?" She asked.

"How far did it go?"

"Where are we going, Tim?"

"We're going to drive around this ugly, fucking town until you answer my question. In vivid detail. _Then_ I'm going to take you home, and _then_ I'm going to go back downtown and find that guy."

Donna smirked at him. The threat of finding a guy and beating him down was always the last gasp from a desperate greaser.

"How are you going to find him? I don't even know his last name."

"I'm going to find the bartender, and after he's told me, I'm going to tune him up too."

"Why?" She asked. Because she wanted to hear him say something that would make sense, even though she knew it was more like that Soc had stumbled onto enemy turf and was demanding a beating for it.

"You know why," Tim grumbled, and began the quest through his pockets for his cigarettes.

"Do _you_?" Donna asked him. "I bet you can't even tell me why."

"I ain't tellin' you anything. You're doing the talking now."

"And what if I don't?"

"Then I'm just going to have to assume that you liked it, and it was all well and good with you, in which case you can just get out here and take your chances walking. Maybe someone else'll pick you up and roll you. Twice in one night. It'd be a banner evening for you."

Donna sat up and backhanded him. It wasn't a solid hit, but it was enough to surprise him and make the car swerve. Tim cussed at her. She turned in her seat with her back against the door and began kicking him. He yanked the steering wheel hard to the right, veering them into a parking lot and making Donna lose her balance and tumble against the dash.

Tim forgot about the clutch and the car shuttered and the engine died.

"What is wrong with you?" He shouted.

"You don't know. You don't know anything," she sputtered.

"I've been asking you for the last sixteen blocks. You've had all the time in the fuckin' world to enlighten me."

"You've been making like it's all my fault, too."

"'Cause it is. Christ, I told you...If you'd done it the way I told you, it wouldn't have happened. I don't even know what _it_ is. I do know for damned-sure you'd better never take a swing at me again, little girl. Whatever you think that guy at the club can do to you, I can do you a whole lot worse."

Donna thought about asking him if he really would, if he wanted to, but it seemed to her like their argument was going on forever. Tim was right- she'd had plenty of time to spill her guts. Now it just seemed like she was dragging it out. She'd just fooled around with a guy. It was a guy she didn't like, but it was nothing more than that. Worse things happened to nicer girls than her.

She turned to face the dashboard again. She waved her hand forward to signal to Tim to get moving again. He started the car and turned the radio on.


	6. Chapter 6

Six-

Using the expression "crisis of conscience" would have implied that Tim was having a crisis, and he wasn't about to admit to that. He decided he wouldn't call it anything when he finally got back to Buck's and found Two-Bit. He'd just spill it. Not all of it, but enough of it to get Two-Bit to do something about.

Not like he'd never pondered the injustice of it all. There were plenty of girls out there who were a hell of a lot smarter than he was, but they weren't allowed to go half the places and do half the things that he did. Hell, at this house, they all knew it was his mom running the show. His step-dad brought in the money- barely- and that was about it. Tim's mom made sure the bills got paid, the collectors got dealt with when the bills couldn't be paid, and the truant officer stayed clear of the house. It was his step-dad's name on all those bills, but Tim doubted he ever even saw them.

And then there was a girl like Donna. Everyone knew full-well that she didn't even have a dad. Two-Bit didn't do a damned thing other than drink and play cards, and it's not like he was even bringing that card-playing money home to help out. It was the two women in Donna's house who worked.

Tim found Two-Bit right where he had expected to find him: back at Buck's, lazing in the relative quiet of the dying party. Two-Bit was sitting on one of the couches in the living room with his arm around a girl. She was barely awake, but Tim figured he didn't need to risk hearing her opinion on any of it.

"Honey, I need to talk to this guy," he told her.

The girl frowned. She sat up a little straighter, but made no move to stand.

"So talk," she said.

"Mathews, tell her to take a hike," Tim said.

Two-Bit shrugged and nudged the girl. She clicked her tongue in irritation, but she got up for Two-Bit. She went- her movements erratic from the alcohol- towards the kitchen.

"What's the problem?" Two-Bit asked. Tim was about to say _who says there is one_ , but a slow grin began to spread across Two-Bit's face. He said, "Someone said my sister was here talking to you. Then someone else said you left with her for a while. Then someone else jumped in and said y'all both looked pissed."

"Well, you can't believe everything you hear."

"But it never hurts to follow up, does it? What's the problem with my sister? And before you start concocting a fish story, Shepard, just know I'm going to cross-check your story with hers."

Tim patted his pockets for cigarettes and found himself out. He pulled up a stray chair, straddled it, and sat opposite Two-Bit.

"I had Dwight pick her up, and he said she was all jumpy from the time she got in. Got all pissy with him when he tried to ask her about it. She said she wanted to come here and throw back a couple, but when they got her, she wanted to take off because she didn't want to tangle with you. Something's up. What's that place like- where she works?"

"Couldn't say. Not like they let me in there to drink brandy and eat caviar or anything like that. My impression it's a vibe sort of like a rumble before the fighting starts, except that the fighting never starts. It's just always everybody with their claws out, but nobody doing anything about it."

"Sounds like a shit deal to me," Tim said.

"I can only imagine," Two-Bit replied. Then he sat up and leaned in closer to Tim. "Maybe I'm just not a very imaginative guy, though, 'cause I'm also having trouble digesting what plausible reason you'd have for worrying yourself over it enough to tell me. Unless you fucked up somehow, and this is you covering your tracks. How you fucked up just giving a girl a ride is beyond me. Unless you put a move on her and it didn't go well, but then...it wasn't you giving her a ride. It was Dwight."

Tim shook his head. "Dwight didn't do shit to her, man. You know him. He's more of a gentleman than you and I can over hope to be."

"That ain't sayin' much. In any case, that's where I'm at...with my imagining and all...Dwight puts his hands on my sister. She comes here to squeal to you, and _you_ \- not her- decides to get her out of here because I'm here. Am I getting warm?"

"Not even a little."

"Really? So is it better or worse than that? Because I'm really not too keen on any of you railyard future convicts fooling around with Donna. Which one of you is it that I have to get that clear with?"

Tim shook his head.

"It wasn't us," he said, choosing his words. "It was someone at that club. She was twitchy when she got in with Dwight. I'm asking you- does she do more there than mambo?"

Two-Bit shrugged and then stood up with a speed that didn't match his size or state of intoxication. He was fast, even when he was three sheets to the wind. Tim knew that full-well, but this time is surprised him. If Two-Bit had pulled a knife out, Tim wouldn't have been ready. He stood up and took a step back. If he needed to, he had plenty space to take a swing.

Two-Bit stretched. He took a quick look towards the kitchen when the girl had gone.

"I don't know. I've had my suspicions. I guess the only way to know is to ask is her."

"You going to ask her then?" Tim felt like maybe he was overplaying his hand, but he wanted to be sure Two-Bit wouldn't forget on the way home.

"Yeah, I'll ask her. When you see me tomorrow looking like I've been chewed up and spit out, you'll know she and I discussed it." He grinned at Tim and winked. Then he called out, "Dianne!"

The girl appeared in the hallway. Two-Bit jerked his head, indicating that they were going. When they were gone, Tim took Two-Bit's spot on the couch, stretched his legs out, and tried not to think.

* * *

It was pushing two o'clock when Two-Bit got home. There was a chill in the air, but still his sister was sitting on the floor of the front porch, leaned back against the house. She startled when she saw him coming, but made no move to get up. He figured she knew she was made.

Two-Bit parked the car and strolled up to the house. He knew he was a big guy, and he knew how to work just looking that way to his advantage. What was more difficult was when he didn't want to look that way. In an attempt to make himself smaller, he jammed his hands into his jeans pockets.

"What's going, sis?"

Donna shrugged.

"Well, whatever it is, it's bad enough to make a dent in Shepard's armor. He was trying to tell me something went down at work. I'm thinking it's just as likely that something went down between you and him and Dwight. Which is it?"

"It was at work," Donna said. She stared past him out at the ring of light the streetlamp made.

Two-Bit nodded and sat down on the steps, a safe distance from her.

"What's it like there anyway?" He asked.

Donna managed a weak smile. "The light's too bright and everyone lies to each other all the time, but it always smells good. All the women wear perfume, and all the guys wear cologne."

She shivered a little when she said it, and Two-Bit recalled a time when he cuddled up to a former girlfriend and realized he could smell another guy all over her. He wondered if Donna had some rich fucker's cologne all over her.

"Not that you ever listen to or do a damned thing I say, but what if I said I didn't want you working there anymore?"

"I'd say it's good money, and you ain't bringin' in any."

"Touche'. What if I was to counter that it isn't worth it- whatever it is that's going on now, it ain't worth the money."

"I would reply that there ain't anything going on. It was just a bad night. Everyone has a bad night."

"What makes for a bad night in that place? Shit, what would make it a good night?"

Donna stretched her legs out in front of her. Two-Bit could tell, without turning around, that she was thinking about telling him. He continued to look away from her and waited.

"It's a mixed bag, really," she said. "I mean, a good night means tips, but it also means doing extra stuff to get them. And that can go bad."

"And tonight it went bad?"

"Yeah. It was just a dance, and then sneaking off to make out a little. I've done it before. Hell, I had fun doing it before. This time, it wasn't any fun though."

Two-Bit flexed his fingers.

"How not fun?"

"I don't know...the baseball metaphor...it was second or third base."

Two-Bit could never remember the particulars of the baseball metaphor either. He wondered fleetingly why they needed a metaphor at all. Why couldn't she just say it, and would be able to handle it if she did? He relaxed some, though, when she didn't say "home".

He asked, "So it wasn't that big of a deal? It just made for a bad night?"

It was the wrong thing. Donna pulled her legs in and stood up. She dusted herself off, looking up to glare at him.

"It was a big deal to me. It was a big deal because I couldn't have gotten out of there if I wanted to. I was completely at the mercy of some drunk asshole's sense of propriety, or maybe his fear of getting caught. I don't know. One thing I know for sure is that you, and Tim, and Dwight and all of you- you ain't any different. So all of you can just save the caring big brother routine because somewhere there's a girl in this town crying to her brother over you not being able to keep your hands to yourself."

Out of pure frustration and meanness, Two-Bit snapped, "It don't look to me like you're cryin' too hard, Donna."

"I quit crying over that shit a long time ago," she said, and went into the house. The slam of the screen door echoed over the whole neighborhood.


	7. Chapter 7

SE Hinton owns the Shepards and The Outsiders.

Seven-

"What are we waiting for, Tim?"

"A train."

"Mission accomplished. There's a million damned trains."

Curly Shepard hopped up and down on his toes, trying to warm up or trying to burn off excess energy. Tim didn't know for sure. Tim wasn't cold, but Curly always seemed to feel everything harder and sharper than everyone else.

They were perched on the flat roof of a warehouse that overlooked the switchyard. Tim had discovered, when he stopped to think about it, that despite living most of his life within spitting distance of the tracks, he didn't really know a lot about how they came and went, unloaded, or switched cars. He decided to spend an evening studying the switchyard, and- against his better judgement- he brought Curly along for company.

"It's a particular train, dumbass," Tim told him.

"Where from?"

"Out east."

"We're in the middle of the damned country, Tim," Curly said. "Half of it is east of here."

"And I thought you failed Geography."

Curly grinned. He seemed almost proud of himself.

"I got a D," he told Tim.

Tim gave in: "Whatever train from the east coast gets here at three."

"What's on it?" Curly asked.

"Elephants and fucking clowns," Tim said. "It's a circus train."

That shut Curly up, and gave Tim quiet and time to ponder what a circus this was becoming. Should have never sent a girl to do a job- any job because shit like this happened to girls. It wasn't their fault- they were just easy to overpower. And now she was refusing any kind of kick-back which kept him in the position of perpetually owing her something. The door would never shut between them if Tim couldn't find a way of paying her back and a way of making her accept it.

"What're we going to do when the train comes,Tim?" Curly was only capable of shutting up for about two minutes.

"We're going to look at it. Observe its habits."

"I can tell you right now what it's habits are, Tim. It rolls in here on a a track, sits still for a bit, and then rolls back out again."

 _Jesus, Curly_. "We're going to see what they unload, how many guys it takes to unload it, if they unload from the front or the back. Then we're going to go home."

Robbing the alcohol from the train was going to take some time. They'd need a truck, and a few guys. Tim would know exactly how many when he saw how many workers were there to unload the car. Already, he figured at least four: one to hold a gun on the workers, one to stand look-out, two to unload the crates. The look-out could keep himself in the shadows and slip away unseen, so he didn't figure into the plan for getting out of the railyard. One of the guys loading crates could drive. The gunman would hop in the truck last, and then off they'd go.

What he didn't know- besides how many men would be in the railyard- was if any of them would be armed. He wasn't above shooting someone (and he figured that made him the safest bet for the gunman- he could trust himself not to freeze), but he didn't fancy the idea of getting shot. Or seeing his little brother get shot.

Tim figured they only had one shot at it. Once they tried it, the railyard would increase security. It had to be done right the first time. The potential score made it worth the while, but the set-up would take time.

He snuck a look at Curly, who was laying on his stomach leaning over the side of the roof. He was hacking up mouthfuls of spit and then seeing how far down he could let them go and and draw them back up without them breaking. Watching made Tim a little nauseous.

Curly was going to want to play a part in the robbery. Just watching trains wouldn't be enough for him. No way was he going to be the gunman, or the look-out either. Curly was too distractible to be the lookout. He'd have to one of the guys unloading the crates, which meant that he was one of the most likely to get shot at, if the rail workers were packing.

Tim inwardly kicked himself for growing a conscience. He blamed it on the girl. That was where it had all begun. Some Soc had played rough with her, and now Tim felt responsible for it. The feeling was like a virus in his body: now he was worried about Curly too. He should have never sent a girl to do a guy's job.

* * *

"What's with you and the redhead?" Dwight asked. He was trying to sound nonchalant about it- like he was just making conversation- but the fact that he'd asked at all made it clear that the question was anything but random.

"Nothing," Tim said. "Why? You thinkin' about taking a shot at her?"

"Thinking about it," Dwight replied, still trying to sound like nothing- not his pride, certainly not his heart- was hanging on it.

"Two-Bit'll probably take upon himself to try and whip your ass."

Dwight smirked. "Yeah, let him try. That'd be half the fun of it. Might be all the fun of it if she turns out to be no fun herself."

Tim considered whether or not Dwight could take Two-Bit. Two-Bit was sturdy and cleared six foot tall. Dwight was as tall, but lanky like Tim. Dwight's best hope was that Two-Bit would be in the later stages of a drunk when he made up his mind that Dwight needed to be put in his place.

Tim's thoughts wandered to Donna. Girls always acted mad when guys fought over them, but Tim was never so sure.

"She's got a hell of a mouth on her," Tim said. He didn't know if that counted as "fun" or not in Dwight's universe.

"Yeah, well, I reckon she could be cajoled into making good use of it."

Now it was Tim who was in the position of saying something he meant without sounding too much like he meant it:

"Go easy with the cajoling," he said.

Dwight was not so easily fooled.

"Go easy? Since when have you been all for goin' easy on a girl? We _you_ thinking of making a move on her, man?"

"No. I- unlike you- got no room in my life for mouthy girls. If I want to listen to a girl give me lip, I'll go over to my ma's place and see my sister. No. Just we got to live with Two-Bit, is all."

"He can't whip all of us. Maybe one of us if he caught us on our lonesome, but we could put him back in his place."

Tim shrugged.

"Yeah, but ain't just so much more pleasant when we can all just party and drink and smoke up together without wondering when one of us is going to get jumped?"

Dwight smirked.

"You feeling alright, man?" He asked, grinning at Tim. "Maybe you oughta go lay down or something. Since when did you worry about getting jumped by anyone? Since when did you shy away from a fight?"

"Ain't shying away from shit," Tim said. "I'm just saying it ain't worth it- not over a girl. Curly's friends with that little Curtis kid. That sort of puts us on their good side. They might come in handy sometime."

"I'd rather have that girl come in handy," Dwight said.

"Do what you want," Tim grumbled, and then wished he hadn't. Lately, it seemed that every time he told someone to just go do what they wanted, they actually did it.

"Well, then how about I pick her up tonight?" Dwight asked. "You can take a night off from your Petro Club gig. Maybe you can use the time to further develop your relationship with Two-Bit and the Curtis boys."

"Why don't you go fuck yourself?" Tim said.

Undeterred, Dwight walked away, whistling and jingling his keys between his fingers.


End file.
